


Re-Formatted

by EstherRomanov



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Bullying, Everybody is insane tbh, Harry is insane, Louis was insane, M/M, Messy timeframes, Murder, Not good people too, memory manipulation, mention of rape, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 08:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10716021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherRomanov/pseuds/EstherRomanov
Summary: Curly hair. Green eyes. Curly hair. Green eyes. Curly hair. Green eyes.Ten years can really change someone, huh?They are the crazy ones, not him.





	Re-Formatted

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t want to offend anyone who experiences (or who knows someone who experiences) abuse. I know that that is a very touchy subject and I am one of the few people who have the least say on those issues. I don’t want to preach about it, nor do I have a political stand. Please keep in mind that the following are only for the sake of storytelling. I know that abuse is never acceptable and mental illness is as bad as it sounds. Furthermore, I don’t believe that the music artists that will be mentioned are capable to do the horrid things that you will read. Still, if you are uncomfortable with that, I advice you not to read this one.  
> TLDR: Please don’t kill me.

One

When the jury gave Louis Tomlinson the verdict of guilty due to criminal insanity, they are already graduated from high school and off to their first jobs across the country. Both the crime and the trial were ten years ago. Louis was only eighteen when he took the kitchen knife and stabbed Harry Styles’ friend 78 times in his chest. He did not run. He just sat in the living room, happy that he finally killed him. He was humming when the police arrived. 

_Curly hair. Green eyes. Curly hair. Green eyes. Curly hair. Green eyes._

Harry was in Boston when an old friend who didn’t leave St. Margaret phoned him about the verdict. Niall Horan was in Memphis. Nick Grimshaw was in New York. Zayn Malik and Perrie Edwards were in Japan. Taylor Swift was in Switzerland. They were far apart from one another, but each remembered the day they made a pact not to tell the authorities they knew something about Louis’ crime. The case was open and shut. No need for eyewitnesses. But if the authorities only knew the other part of the equation: they bullied Louis almost all their high school lives. That was what it took for Louis to mentally break down and kill Alphonse Sawyer that February night, two months before their high school graduation. 

_Curly hair. Green eyes. Curly hair. Green eyes. Curly hair. Green eyes._

Except that for them, it wasn’t really bullying. They were just having fun. It’s not their fault that Louis was a total slut for Harry. Not their fault that he would be a willing slave to them just to please their curly-haired friend. Not their fault that Louis would willingly receive their beatings and insults just to be close to their green-eyed mate. Not their fault that Harry was in love with Caroline back in those days and who in their right mind would give up Caroline Flack for an obsessed freak like Louis? Not their fault that Louis had this notion that he can change Harry. Not their fault. All on Louis. 

Louis missed high school graduation. He was already in a psychiatric evaluation. Nobody missed him nonetheless; he’s a murderer. He’s got no friends, family, relatives to visit him in the prison hall. Nobody; except for Liam Payne, his best friend, the one Niall had been crushing on, and the one that broke the camel’s back. Liam was involved in the crime, too. All of them are. All of them drove Louis into insanity. Wasn’t his insanity the only reason he killed Alphonse and not Harry? Louis thought Alphonse was Harry that night. _Curly hair. Green eyes_. How Harry shuddered every time he thought of how Louis was after committing the crime. 

_\--Was I really that hateful that someone wanted to kill me? Stab me 78 times in the chest and hum happily when the deed is done?_

And why was he remembering all of these all of a sudden? Plainly because, after ten years, he would go back to that town for the high school reunion. He has forgotten all about Louis and the incident. But it’s all coming back. His evil hateful self is coming back strong. 

Two

Mike stares grumpily at his lunchbox. “I hate grapes!” he announces. 

Louis is undeterred. “Well, unluckily for you, you damn brat, Mom was still sick and I will be the one preparing your meals until she gets better.” He hooks his apron behind the door and reaches for his shoulder bag. “Now, are you walking with me to the school or not?” 

The ten-year-old boy is still throwing a fuss even after he puts his lunchbox inside his backpack. “Why can’t you just give me lunch money?” 

Louis mimics his younger brother’s whiny voice. “Why can’t you just shut up? You know Mom doesn’t trust your school canteen’s hygiene practices. Just because she’s in the hospital right now means I will give you whatever you want.” 

“I don’t trust your hygiene practices.” 

Louis pinches Mike’s ear. “Say that again and you’ll go hungry for a week.” 

“Fine! Fine! I take it back!” he nurses his stinging ear. “Jeepers Creepers. I wish Mom is here.” 

Michael Tomlinson’s school is only three blocks away from their apartment and Louis’ community college is only seven. Robert Tomlinson, in all his wisdom when he was still alive and living, thought it best that one way to save money for education for his children is to move where those educational institutions could be right at their doorsteps. No transportation fees, no problem. So even though Louis Tomlinson wanted to study, say, overseas, just away from that town, he kept his mouth shut because as Debbie Tomlinson often say to her two children, _Your dad left us enough money to feed our stomachs three times a day, not five._

Louis drops his brother at his elementary school, then bicycles his way to his Uni. He has a boring life to the outsiders’ eyes. Yes, to some extent he will agree. He has few to zero friends. He rarely gets invited in parties. His boyfriend for two years may or may not be going bored in their relationship. But what does it matter? He’s got books. And the characters in books, both the friendly and the wicked, last longer than real people. And it’s more than enough. 

At the university, he barely makes it to his first period. He sits beside Evan, the closest thing to his best friend in that town and who is shamelessly sleeping when he is three desks away from their professor. The nerve of the bleached-gray-haired boy to even snore. Though for all that Louis cares, it doesn’t matter. Their professor, whom Louis, Evan and Logan betted among themselves must be older than 133 years, continued to drone on and on about acute angles and sine and cosines. He doesn’t even notice that half his students are missing. Louis could have absent himself too if it isn’t for Logan, who took the class last semester, who told him that you’ll get the highest mark if you have a perfect attendance. “He’s 147 years old. That’s the only way he can grade students nowadays,” Logan had said. And since Louis is terrible at math just like he is terrible at his social life, well, it is the only way. 

As the old professor write more formulas in the blackboard already crowded with numbers, Louis just sits back in his chair and continues _The Trial_ by Franz Kafka. He is nearing the end, or the unending it would seem as he heard that the novel was actually unfinished. Joseph was in the quarry with the two men. Suddenly, Evan is already awake and the period is over. Evan’s body clock is accurate and very commendable. 

Two more classes with Evan and after which they went to a diner where the rest of their friends are waiting. 

Selena and Cara, the only girls in their group, are teasing Logan for his little knowledge on _How To Get Away With Murder_. Logan, having had enough, asks defiantly, “Well what if I don’t want to get away with murder? You can’t push that stupid show down my throat if that is the case, can you?” 

The two girls don’t answer; only greet Evan and Louis when they sit with them. Selena, probably the sweetest one of them all (and the girly-girl that Louis often wondered why would she stick with them), asks Louis about his mother. 

“She’s stable,” Louis answers. “Mike and I’ll visit her tonight.” 

“Could we come too?” Cara almost pleads. “God, I love your mom. I hope she’s okay.” 

“I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind if you come. Except for Evan here.” The boy in question nearly chokes in his blueberry milkshake. “She can’t forget the nasty remark you gave her. And I haven’t, too, anyway.” 

“I was just… joking?” Evan defends himself poorly. 

Logan is laughing. “Dude. Dude! I know you want to hit that rack, I do too, but there are other ways—” 

Louis is getting turned-off. “Stop it! Don’t talk about my mother like that! It’s weird!” 

They are silent afterwards. Then Cara says, “Yeah, I’d hit that rack.” 

Louis will tell her off too, if it isn’t for Selena suddenly gushing, “Looks like you got an admirer.” 

Three

The reunion is supposed to be a magical nostalgia, about how he missed that damn old town where he grew up in. In reality, Harry feels trapped. Nothing changed in that town. Old buildings just got older. Faded poster walls just got faded more into white. Everything is just rustier, planer, more vintage. It is a damn old town alright. Damn old town still. 

Why didn’t it change? 

He wants to forget that he first met Louis in the showing of _King Kong_ in the film amphitheater. He wants to forget how he always sees Louis by the river behind the school, painting with watercolors. He wants to forget how Louis confessed to him and tried to kiss him in the school rooftop. He wants to forget the first time he and his gang beat the shit out of the blue-eyed boy in the warehouse near the church. He wants to forget the party at the public pool, where he made out with Taylor in front of Louis just to show him he doesn’t mean anything to him. The film room in the school, where his friends raped Louis while he watched with a video camera, he also wants to forget. He doesn’t want to, but he remembers a different warehouse beside the parking lot where they goaded Liam to have sex with Louis as a promise to the former that they won’t touch the latter again if he does. And most of all, he wants to forget the tree at the back of Louis’ apartment, where they hid and watched in horror as Alphonse took that first knife wound. 

He has forgotten Louis Tomlinson and high school for the past ten years. Why does the whole town breathe of him? Why no changes so he could at least forget? Man, the only ones who changed are the ones who left: him, Niall, Zayn, the rest of his friends, the rest of their batch. He likes Taylor’s new haircut. He thinks Zayn’s beard suits him. He laughs at Nick’s beer gut. Signs they are growing old. 

“I wonder where Liam Payne is,” Zayn suddenly blurts out beside him. 

The reunion is drawing to a close. The band onstage keeps counting down the songs to go before they call it a night. And Harry is nowhere from getting drunk. They are at the back of the gym (the place where Louis boldly asked him for a dance during prom, to which Harry answered with a middle finger). 

Taylor giggles. “Wow. I thought you of all people won’t ask for Payne. I thought Niall would.” 

Niall rolls his eyes as if in disgust. 

“Liam did write in our yearbook that he would like to manage our batch’s ten-year anniversary,” Zayn reasons. 

“Things change. Maybe he’s not interested anymore,” Perrie says. “Anyone heard from him, though?” 

No one answers. 

“Maybe on and off visiting Tomlinson in the asylum,” Nick deadpans. 

Finally someone mentions Louis’ name. It will come up eventually. They won’t escape it. Nervousness runs through the air suddenly. After all, they could attempt light-hearted jokes all they want about high school, but they will have to admit that they are also responsible for that incident. They made Louis what he’d become. 

“Jesus Christ. Louis Tomlinson. That bastard. Ruined high school for us,” Zayn mutters then chugs his beer. 

“Does anyone even visit that murderer?” Perrie asks. 

No one. Should they? Maybe Louis’ already dead and rotting in hell for all they care. He’s not important, just the reason Harry can’t feel happy right now. The reason he feels like a monster whenever he remembers that fateful night Alphonse died. 

He wants to get out of St. Margaret so bad and quick. 

Four

“He’s been locked up for two weeks. I’ve heard he won’t even open the door to Liam Motherfucking Payne,” Nick reports to his friends after school. 

Harry’s forehead creases in sudden confusion, anger, and the littlest guilt. _\--Have we taken this too far? Was it Louis’ breaking point?_

Maybe. Having Liam pound Louis in a secret warehouse while the rest of them watch in sick pleasure should be more than unacceptable, right? 

_\--Liam, we will leave your best friend alone in one piece and in peace if… you fuck him right here right now. Don’t worry; he won’t mind. He’s a slut._

“Liam is also absent today,” Perrie adds. 

Niall has been trying to stop the tears to fall from his blue eyes. But he couldn’t take it anymore. He inhales, exhales, then blurts out, “I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT TO LIAM! HE WILL DO EVERYTHING FOR LOUIS!” 

His friends are taken aback. 

“WE’RE MONSTERS! WE’RE FUCKING MONSTERS! OH, GOD. WHAT HAPPENED TO US?” 

Nick grabs a hold of Niall’s shoulders. “No, Niall! Don’t say that! We’re not monsters! It’s Louis! It’s Louis’ fault! He’s the stalker freak. He’s the one that asked for it. My God. We’re just trying to make him go away!” 

But Perrie has been affected by Niall’s outpour too. She becomes nervous. “What if he finally reports to the higher-ups what we’ve done? What we’ve been doing to him?” 

The Grimshaw boy purses his lips. “That bastard should just try… he just try… he’ll be sorry.” 

As Harry watch his friends cry and console and get mad, all his thoughts are into just one thing: if he could visit Louis. 

Five

_“Such a feelin's coming over me. There is wonder in most ev'ry thing I see; not a cloud in the sky, got the sun in my eyes, And I -- won't be surprised if it's a dream.”_ Louis hums to the music from the Sunday radio. He’s been crying. He’s been curled up sitting on the couch. He’s been locked up for two weeks. He’s sad. He’s angry. He’s afraid. He’s crying. And most of all, he’s in pain. 

If Liam could do that to him, who else can he trust? There’s no one left. No one loves him. He’s just a sex toy, the bullied one. He’s not worth shit. 

He wails louder in self-pity. 

His ass is still sore ( _hahaha_ , very funny). He couldn’t walk. There are still purple bruises on his ribs, his thighs, under his eyes. He thinks his arm’s broken, too. –Oh, Liam. How could you? 

Surely he can’t go out now. What would Harry and his friends and Liam do to him when they see him next? They will hurt him. Hurt. He doesn’t want to be hurt again. 

Why is he alone? 

“Mama… Papa…” he calls out between hiccups. Why did they have to die? Where are they to save their miserable child? 

“Mama… where are you?” he calls to the room. “Mama! Help me! Save me!” 

The lights are turned off in the apartment. The only source of light is the streetlamp beside a tree outside his window. When Louis looks up from his knees, he sees a figure lurking beside the bedroom door. It’s dark and immobile. Louis swallows. 

“Mama?”he asks cautiously. “Mama? Is that you?” 

The figure moves a little to a side, then two arms appeared from its sides, beckoning him to come. Louis stares at it stupidly for a while before realization dawns. He jumps from the couch to the thing on the door. “Mama!” He embraces it. It’s alive. He can feel its heat as it envelopes him in a hug. Louis weeps again. 

“Please… Please… Mama, help me… T-tell Harry I won’t love him again if that’s what he wants… tell him I’ll forget him… just tell him to stop hurting me! I don’t want him anymore, Mama! Not any of this! I don’t want to get hurt! Take me away from here!” 

_“…and the only explanation I can find is the love that I've found, ever since you've been around. Your love's put me at the top of the world,”_ The Carpenters continue to taunt from the radio. 

“Mama. I want to leave this place. Take me with you. Please. I want to go home.” 

“ _You don’t have to go away…_ ” his mother whispers soothingly to his ear. “ _You have a right to be here…you have a place in this world… he on the other hand…_ ” 

Louis looks up with a questioning look. He can’t see his mother’s face in the darkness. But her voice really brought a certain amount of calmness in him. 

“ _He is the impure one, Louis. He is the DEVIL…. Devils have no place beside you, Louis…_ ” 

“I love him, Mama.” 

“ _He tricked you into loving him… That’s what devils do… you fell for it and it’s wrong…you have greatly sinned… but there’s one way to make it right… the only way…_ ” 

Louis finally stops crying. He nods in understanding. “I’ve been tricked… I don’t love him… He’s the devil… All of them… I have to atone for my sins.” 

His mother kisses his forehead. “ _Good boy, Louis…_ ” 

Six 

Alphonse thinks what he’s done wrong as the knife drives for the first time into his chest. 

_\--How could this be? I’m just trying to see if Louis’ okay. I’m just doing what Harry requested me to._

That line of thought is completely abandoned though when the second stabbing came, and the third, and the fourth, and so on. As Louis traps him between his knees and the cold, cold tiled floor, his brain gives him picture photographs: the comfort of his room, his unfinished Math homework, the TV, the apartment, the house in Iowa, Mom, Dad, Emily, Abigail, the dog Sebastian, childhood, bicycles, Mom again, notebooks, blankets, clocks, showers, and he shrieks… 

“NO! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! SPARE ME! NO! NO! NO! NO DIE! NO DIE!” until his dying breath. 

Above him, Louis continues to bury and draw the kitchen knife into his chest. Bury and draw. _Curly hair. Green eyes._ The curly-haired green-eyed man should die. He hears Harry’s plea for life, alright. So he answers him, “No! DIE! Die! Die! Die! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!” 

Twelve stabs. Harry’s dead. 

“DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!” 

Thirty stabs. Harry’s dead… but Louis’ hatred has not been quenched. Too far from it. So he continues his atonement. 

“DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!” 

Until his arms ache, it’s all a series of “DIE! DIE! DIE!” 

Seventy-eight times. Harry’s eyes and mouth are wide open. An expression of horror is on his face. Tears have dried up from the corner of his eyes. 

Louis is catching his breath. He closes his eyes and tries to relax his aching arms and his hoarse throat. The knife falls from his limped hand. Finally… he opens his eyes and studies Harry’s dead body again. He smiles. There’s a peace inside of him; a giddy feeling swells from his heart. He’s covered with blood but that is his holy water. 

Finally he will be okay. He’s got his atonement. 

Seven

Back to Boston, Harry paces around his little office in the building. He flew right after the reunion ends. He couldn’t take it anymore. The revisiting of all those memories sickens him. He remembers now why he doesn’t visit his parents, only asks them to come to Boston. Never would he return again to his hometown. 

He’s doing nothing now. Jade, his secretary, having thought that he would return tomorrow, stacked his important appointments on that day. Harry could’ve just stayed at home but that’ll be more frustrating. He begins idly flipping through the pages of a magazine then drops it when an article about Steve Aoki came up. Aoki is this great postmodern painter and he’s touring around the world. Harry remembers that Louis loves to paint. Harry may not be in love with him but damn if he won’t admit that he likes Louis’ artworks. He truly likes his style. 

And now he’s back to remembering the psychotic murderer named Louis Tomlinson. Great. 

A knock comes on the door. He’s barely look up to it when it opens and Zayn and Niall come in with easy good morning smiles. He greets them back with a deep frown. 

“Thought you’re gonna escape from us, huh?” Zayn asks, undeterred by Harry’s unwelcoming expression. “Man, it’s been ten years! Don’t you wanna spend more time with us?” 

Harry doesn’t answer. Zayn and Niall take the seat in front of his table and Harry just stares at them with a blank face. 

“Mate, say something,” Niall says. “Wanna tour us around your place?” 

Harry finally gives in to a shrug. “Fine. Later, though.” 

“Why later? Jade told us you’re free today,” Niall retorts. “C’mon, man. We haven’t had breakfast.” 

“You’re thinking of Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn stated out of nowhere. 

Harry takes in the quietness of the room, the blue of the sky seen from the glass before he answers. “Thank God it is that obvious.” 

Zayn nods. “You’re not the only one to think of him. Who wouldn’t be? The thought of him spoiled the reunion for us.” 

Harry looks at his raven-haired friend straight in the eyes, mustering up all the solemnity and the need for an answer. “Zayn… do you think we could’ve avoided what happened? Do you think we could’ve saved him?” 

The man has a thoughtful expression. “Who are you talking about? Alphonse or Louis?” 

He gulps. “Both… but most especially Louis.” 

If Zayn is surprised by the answer, he didn’t show it. Niall contents himself by just watching them. “He shouldn’t have fallen for you that hard, Harry.” 

“And we shouldn’t have punished him for it, Zayn. We shouldn’t have taken it in our own hands. Zayn… we were bullies. It’s been ten years. There’s no shame to admit that we did wrong. We were 18 and now we’re 28. Louis’ in an asylum and the Sawyers have moved on…” 

“And Liam is still nowhere to be found…” Niall adds in. 

“Niall, it’s not the time for that,” Zayn scolds him. 

“But Liam disappeared because of us, too. Wouldn’t you say so, Harry? You’re the one who came up with the idea of the bargain with Liam.” 

Niall’s accusing tone suddenly scares Harry. The bleached-blonde was in love with Liam, after all. “Are you… mad at me?” 

An impassive face is shown. “No. Like you said. It’s ten years. There’s nothing I could do about it.” 

Eight

The strangers are handsome creatures. Something out of an Oscar Wilde novel. The man in the middle with the curly hair, tightly-pursed lips, and green eyes could have been Dorian Gray. The bleached-blonde boy at his right looks adorable, and the raven-haired man with hypnotizing eyes is serious. They are staring at him intently. As if they are figuring the shit out of Louis. Who are they? 

“You know them, Lou?” Logan asks. 

Louis shakes his head but his eyes are still on them. 

Suddenly, Dorian Gray rises from his seat and ambles to their table. His companions try to stop him with words but they are unheard. Dorian Gray is in front of him. He looks scared and confused. He looks ready to cry. Louis grips the arms of his chair. Even his friends sit still. 

“L-Louis..?” Dorian Gray asks. 

Louis couldn’t believe it. “You know who I am?” 

His question gave Dorian Gray much more confusion, but Louis needs to know. 

“I… don’t believe… have we met each other before, sir?” 

Dorian Gray looks back for his companions for help. Problem is, Bleached-blonde and Raven-haired also looks lost as fuck. Louis doesn’t know what’s going on. 

“Sir?” 

“You don’t remember who I am?” the handsome creature asks. When Louis shakes his head no, he snaps, “Impossible. Impossible!” 

“Wha—” 

Before he knows it, strong arms reach for his collar and haul him up. He’s met with an angry face of Dorian Gray. “You… You’ve killed that boy! You’ve killed Alphonse! You’ve killed someone! How are you out here and free?! Shouldn’t you be in prison, HUH?!” 

“Let go of him, you fucktard!” Logan and Evan try to push and pull Dorian Gray away. Cara and Selena are calling for help for the manager of the diner. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Louis chokes. “I didn’t kill—” 

“MURDERER!” Dorian Gray shouts to his face. Louis has never been more scared in his life. It’s more disturbing when he looks behind DG’s shoulder and the bleached-blonde and the raven-haired are doing nothing. 

“What are you doing?” Selena is shrieking now, almost crying too. She hits Dorian Gray repeatedly in his arm but it does nothing. “Let go of him!” 

“How do you do it?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” Dorian Gray shouts in his face. “LOUIS! ANSWER ME!!!” 

Finally – fucking finally – the manager and the security guard come and take charge of the situation. The guard pulls Dorian Gray and almost throws him across the room. Louis still registers the looks of utter lost in his green eyes. _–What? What is he so confused about?_

Selena and Cara are suddenly crowding his space, touching him in places where Dorian Gray did, asking him if he’s okay. Louis barely notices them. He watches the three Oscar Wilde characters stomp out the diner. They are beyond angry. And for what? 

What the actual fuck just happened? 

Nine

_Amnesia_ (n.): partial or total loss of memory caused as by brain injury or by shock 

“Is it really him?” Taylor asks him from ten thousand miles away. 

Harry balances the phone in his ear as he rubs at his temples and then drinks his third glass of wine in the kitchen bar. He grunts. “Yes… No… I’m not sure anymore.” 

Taylor is in silence as she waits for Harry to continue. 

“It’s… it’s his face, Taylor. It is Louis. No mistake about it. But… he doesn’t remember me.” 

“Acting perhaps?” 

“Maybe. Niall swears it’s amnesia,” Harry laughs depreciatively. “Ridiculous, I say.” 

“If it’s amnesia, where could have he gotten it? What happened to him? And shouldn’t he be in the hospital if he’s amnesiac, Harry? He’s got no relatives left. What is he doing in Boston?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” he shouts in frustration. In his gratitude, the girl does not say anything to his outburst. Quietly he asks, “What is happening, Taylor? We’ve just attended our reunion and then suddenly he shows up. Is… is he haunting us?” 

“Harry, don’t be too hard on yourself… Tell me. Have you noticed anything about this Louis – something different, perhaps?” 

Harry laughs but it is exaggerated. “Oh. Oh yes. You know Louis’ eyes? Last time I remember they’re both blue. But when I saw them close this morning, one is fucking violet.” 

He hears a gasp at the other end of the line. “So he’s amnesiac, then he’s suddenly got heterochromia iridum too?” 

“That’s not all. When he held up his wrists, I noticed that his tattoo is gone. Taylor, Louis got that spade tattoo for the time we played cards with just the two of us.” 

“Harry, he’s got other tattoos that he matched with yours. The knife, the compass, the _oops!_ —” 

“Yeah. Except I wouldn’t know ‘cause he was in a goddamned jumper this morning. Taylor, I wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of them are not on his body.” 

“Harry. Harry, you’ve got to focus.” There is an urgency to her voice. “Forget about the tattoos and the heterochromia for a while. What is important is this: we’ve got to finally find out what has happened to Louis. That is all there is to put your mind at ease. Because if it’s amnesia, why is he still free? The boy you saw earlier may just be someone who looks like him.” 

“That boy also responds to the name Louis.” 

Quiet. Then, “I’ll fly again first thing in the morning. Make an appointment to St. Margaret’s Asylum.” 

Ten

_Doppelganger_ (n.): the supposed ghostly double or wraith of a living person ¬

 _\--Truth is, I could’ve loved him._

Harry with Niall, Zayn, and now Taylor, watch in hiding Louis Tomlinson hold hands with a boy under the moonlight in the quiet streets of night Boston. “Don’t come near him,” Dr. Doyle had said. “It won’t be good for the both of you.” But curiosity will always kill the cat. And satisfaction will always bring it back. 

It really is him. Louis. 

The other boy is whispering sweet nothings to Louis now. Louis blushes, and he looks oh-so-different from the Louis they knew in high school. He’s in love. 

Louis was in love with Harry too. The endless texts and love letters and stalking were anything to go by. But the love the four friends are witnessing right now from their car is devoid of doom and pretentiousness. This time Louis doesn’t seem desperate, and he is receiving that amount of affection he gives. It is genuine now, and Louis is happy. Louis was never happy before even when he’s in love with Harry. And it makes jealousy curl ugly in his stomach. 

They are in front of an apartment house – Louis’ apparently. The other taller boy leans in and gives Louis a kiss on the lips. A long-winded snog fest it becomes then. 

Harry touches his lips unconsciously. He’s never gotten any kiss from Louis before. He always pushed him away whenever the blue-eyed boy tried. He doesn’t remember when and why Louis gave up trying. 

He hears giggles now. Louis is waving goodbye to his boyfriend, and the boyfriend looks reluctant to leave. 

“Go now, Frank. You got the early morning shift, yeah?” Louis asks with a laugh and playfully pushes the boyfriend – Frank – away. Frank dips his lips to his forehead before running off. It makes Louis laugh louder. 

Harry suddenly makes a decision. He opens his door and walks out. Niall and Taylor’s call of his name and Zayn’s protest of _you-promised-we’ll-just-see-him-for-one-last-time¬_ fall on deaf ears. He strides to where Louis is standing while struggling to open the main door of the house. 

“Louis,” he calls. 

Louis looks around and widens his eyes in horror upon seeing him. “You!” he holds up his keychain stupidly like it would make a good weapon of defense. “What the fuck do you want? I’ll call the cops on you.” 

Harry raises his hands to show that he is harmless. “No. No. Please. I’m here to apologize last time. It was a misunderstanding. Complete misunderstanding.” 

He doesn’t drop the keychain yet. “Then how do you explain what happened, mister? You fucking went Bruce Banner on me.” 

Wow. The Louis he knows doesn’t reference anything from pop culture. 

“You just look like someone I know,” Harry explains which makes Louis snicker in disbelief. 

“Someone who is a murderer, ain’t that so?” 

Harry hesitates. “Yes.” 

“I’ve never murdered someone. Let alone laid hands on anyone, even people I dislike… And he’s name is also Louis, huh?” 

More hesitation. “Yes. You could be his doppelganger if you ask me. You look so much alike. Every part of you, except, that is, your eyes. Louis’ eyes are both blue.” 

Louis does not say anything, only regards him with contempt. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Is that all you came here for? Because I can live my life knowing some psycho picked on me once without ever seeing him again for apology or hearing a lame excuse about a doppelganger. What do you want?” 

Harry can hear his friends’ angry protest in his head. But Niall, Zayn and Taylor are still in the car, Nick is in New York, Perrie is in Japan, and he, Harry, is right in front of Louis and no one can stop him. 

“I want to know you. Who you are, what you like to eat, what do you read, why you don’t paint, what do you want in someone—” 

“STOP!” Louis is flustered. Good. “I’m not going to give all that information to you! You’re mental!” 

Harry internally groans. The nerve of him to call him mental. 

“Look. It’s quarter to ten in the evening. The babysitter will be pissed off soon and my baby brother is sleeping… probably. I want you to leave before you face trouble here.” 

Harry squares his shoulders. “But I’ve already decided,” he says. 

( _“But I’ve already decided,” Louis says and closes his sketchpad. The school bell rings, indicating the end of lunch period. Harry looks over with a mirthful expression._ ) 

“That I like you and I will be part of your life.” 

( _“That I, Louis Tomlinson, like you and I will be your friend,” he finishes with a smile. Harry couldn’t help noticing how the blue in his eyes rivals the river beside them. He laughs._

_“My God, Louis. You make it sound like a threat.”_ ) 

“I will call the police,” Louis says and turns to the door but Harry’s hands stop him. He is turned around and shoved harshly to door; the taller one immediately traps him with his body with so little air to breathe. Two little short arms try to fight him off but they’re quickly pinned above his head by one hand. Two big, round blue-violet eyes look at Harry in fear. Harry feels a sudden tightening in his pants. He likes – craves – this feeling of power and control. It makes him hard. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Louis squeaks. 

“Are you afraid?” he nearly growls. He wants to ruin the boy and make him his Louis again. 

( _Louis frowns. “Why? Are you afraid?”_

_“As if, Lou.” He reaches over and messes with Louis’ hair. “You’re too tiny to be scared of. Go on, then. Be part of my life. I want you to.”_ ) 

Louis tries to scream for help. Lucky that Harry has thought of shutting him up with his mouth on his. It’s messy and all teeth and tongue and Louis does not want to cooperate in the kiss. He bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He licks at it then pulls away a little to let Louis breathe. He waits for the short boy to say something and when he still doesn’t, he snaps, “Fine, then. I will be part of your life, whether you want to or not. It’s been decided.” 

“Fuck you,” Louis grits. “Fuck off! Leave me alone!” 

Harry smiles. “Don’t be too loud. You’re brother is sleeping, you said? Louis…” the one hand not holding both his wrists travels down in front of the short boy’s pants. Louis’ breath skips a beat. “Louis…” he whispers to his ear. “You wanted me right?” 

“What are you talking about?” Louis pleads. “I don’t understand. I don’t even know who you are.” 

Finally pauses, Harry is almost tempted to tell the truth and ruin the game. But the thing is, he wants to play with fire. And it will be so much fun playing with his own life. So he says, “Edward. My name is Edward Styles. Don’t ever forget.” 

It’s not like the past Louis was the only one wanting atonement. Louis’ not the only one not right in the head, either. 

Eleven

“It is not amnesia, Mr. Styles,” Dr. Doyle says patiently behind his table. It is amazing how he can be so patient when a train-wrecked Harry is threatening to explode in his office. “It is not amnesia,” the doctor repeats. 

Harry almost jumps then bang his hands on the doctor’s the table, making the old man flinch a little. His three friends can’t do anything but watch him self-destruct. “HOW CAN IT NO BE AMNESIA?” he yells. “Fucking Louis Tomlinson can’t remember me, my friends and… and everything! He’s got a violet eye and his tattoo is gone! And the only place he can experience these changes is here! Now tell me why?!” 

“Why do you need to know? You’ve never given importance to him before,” Dr. Doyle asks. When Harry only fumes, he heaves a sigh and confesses. “Normally, I wouldn’t tell anyone unrelated to the patient about these confidential files. But since Mr. Tomlinson has no family, I guess the four of you would do. I mean, we could have Mr. Payne but he went MIA a year after his friend was admitted here. He just stopped visiting.” Niall’s eyes are sparkling with a desire to know but he knows he must wait for his turn. “Mr. Tomlinson underwent a procedure called Memory Implantation. It’s a new brain procedure engineered by the own staffs of this hospital. Think of a computer, Mr. Styles, or a flash drive rather. Sometimes when it is infected by virus, what do you do? You re-format it. What happens then? All its contents are gone and you can start stashing new files in it. But it is still the same flash drive. Basically that’s what happened to Mr. Tomlinson. We took away his original memories and we embedded fabrications to his brain. The program constituted five years of hacking through his cerebral and we are still in the observation process. And also, of course we had to erase all his tattoos. He is still Louis Tomlinson, I assure you, but to us he is also a prototype. There are only twelve prototypes walking the earth right now. They all got released three years ago. I’m surprised you only saw Mr. Tomlinson at this time, considering you live in Boston.” 

“I don’t… I still don’t understand… What program? How can he develop fake memories? What fake memories?” 

Dr. Doyle sighs. “Well, you’re not a particularly bright kid. I should have known when I taught you in your fourth grade.” 

More confusion erupts. “You’re not my fourth grade teacher.” 

“Now you have an idea how it will work.” 

“Why would you do such a thing?” Taylor cries. “How could you? All those memories gone and fabricated for a stupid experiment—” 

Dr. Doyle turns to her and calmly replies, “Ms. Swift, I can assure you that this new procedure’s good intentions outweigh the bad implications you are thinking right now. We are targeting, one, the people the society already judged as helpless cases: the psychopaths, the criminally insane. This is one solution, we propose, to help them be an integral part of the society again. They will connect with other people like how an average person does without a trace of their past ill-thoughts. And, two, this aims to help victims of abuse; to help them forget and walk on again with a new abused-free life. Now… I believe Louis Tomlinson is both, right?” 

They are speechless. “What?” 

“There’s a different, psychological, reason he killed Alphonse Sawyer, right?” 

They became nervous. “How do you know?” Harry asks. 

“You knew that we’ve evaluated him before he got admitted here. We knew about you and him and Mr. Payne and everybody.” 

“Are you going to tell on us?” Taylor asks. 

Dr. Doyle raises a hand to calm her anxiety. “There’s no need anymore, is there? Mr. Tomlinson is a new person now, literally and figuratively. He is not an orphan boy who likes to paint. He is a 23-year-old college male—” 

Twenty-three? Jesus, they made him five years younger in his brain? 

“—who’s got a father who died of diabetes, a mother and a ten-year-old brother. He’s a fan of literature and pop culture, not art and Vincent van Gogh. He never learned how to swim because he nearly drowned in a river when he was four. He has limited skills in math. He is born in Knoxville, attended elementary and high school in Sioux. The heterochromia iridum he got from his father. He hates tattoos. And he normally would fall for a boy or a girl who acts like a gentleman or a proper lady. And if anyone asks proof of everything – birth certificate, school diploma – _we_ have it.” 

“How about his fake family?” Zayn asks. 

Dr. Doyle smiles. “Who do you think the other prototypes are?” He watches for their expressions. He waits for them to take all in those valuable information. “I’m actually glad to you saw me, Mr. Styles, for now I will tell you that we must forbid you from making any contact with _our_ prototype.” 

“Why?” he asks grudgingly. 

“As I said, Mr. Tomlinson is still in the observation period. We couldn’t tell what the effect to his mind will be if he came into contact with the person who triggered his insanity. We had two cases before where one committed suicide after she met her real children – she couldn’t tell apart what was real and what was fabricated. The other one had a brain hemorrhage when he passed through his real hometown in a train. We don’t want to lose another prototype just as when the congress started to lend an ear.” 

“And do you think that’s going to stop me?” 

“Well,” the doctor clasps his hands together and looks at them over his knuckles with a thoughtful expression. “Didn’t he… What would he do to you, I wonder, when his real memory comes back? Isn’t it that the only reason he killed Alphonse Sawyer was because he thought he was you?” 

(…to be continued)???

**Author's Note:**

> So… do you think I should continue this? And… would it be too much if I ask for suggestions, even just a little?


End file.
